


All It Takes

by DarlingJenny



Category: The Good Cop
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingJenny/pseuds/DarlingJenny
Summary: Sometimes it takes a pretty dramatic situation before a guy is willing to to act on his feelings for the girl he loves . . . and before the girl is willing to admit that she's having feelings at all. Luckily, working as detectives has been known to put people in some pretty dramatic situations.





	All It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> So I just binged this whole show, and was shipping TJ and Cora starting from . . . probably the trailer, actually. I was wondering what it would take for TJ to actually be willing to act on his feelings. And this story was born.

o.o.o

Cora is woken from a dream about a plate of spaghetti and meatballs by the sound of gunshots.

Instantly she is wide awake, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of the closet that's been her prison for the last two weeks. The gunshots continue, but they're too far away and too muffled for her to get any sort of idea about what type of gun they come from; as far as she's been able to determine, she's on the top floor of the building, in the back corner, and apparently this puts her far away from the action.

Forcing herself into a seated position, she presses her face to the crack between the door and frame. The sliver of the room that she can see is empty; in two weeks, the cartel has never once had fewer than two guards in that room, right by the door, in her line of sight. Between that and the gunshots, she feels a rush of hope, and she finds herself moving her lips in a silent prayer.

Before long the gunshots cease, and six minutes later—she's counting in an attempt to stay sane—the door opens to reveal the most wonderful thing she's seen in two weeks: TJ Caruso. He's in a bulletproof vest with his gun drawn, obviously clearing the building, and she's never seen him look so serious (which is saying something, for TJ Caruso).

Cora whimpers with relief—something she would vehemently deny, if asked about it—and sets to getting his attention. Her feet are bound, hands tied behind her back, with a gag firmly in her mouth. But she can lift her feet and kick at the wall, and make what noise she can around her gag, and it works: he starts walking toward the closet. Now that he's getting closer she can see that he looks haggard: dark circles like bruises under his eyes, stubble darkening his jaw. She has never seen him go to work without shaving, and she wonders if it's her disappearance that's caused this distress.

She has to admit it warms her heart that he might be this worried over her kidnapping, and between that and the fact that he's about to rescue her, she's feeling very warmly inclined toward Anthony Jr. just at the moment. She spent the month before her disappearance being mad at him about her employee evaluation, and the truth is she's still not thrilled about it. But spending two weeks knowing you could die at any moment has a way of rearranging your priorities, and anyway it occurred to her around day six that TJ is her closest friend, and the closest thing she has to family, in the whole world. Even if he is an uptight little goody two shoes.

(Most of her brain is taken up with relief, but she still takes a brief moment to wonder why he's here. This is a narcotics and kidnapping case, not a homicide. But maybe they allowed All-City Homicide to get involved because one of their own was taken?)

The closet door opens and for an instant TJ's expression is hard and wary—until he looks down and sees her tied up on the ground. "Cora," he breathes, with an expression so painfully hopeful and heartbroken and confused that it almost makes her want to cry. "Cora," he repeats, half a sob this time, and drops to his knees. "How is this possible?" he demands as he sets aside his gun and starts scrabbling at the gag's knot. "The body in the car—we thought—"

They thought she was dead, she realizes as the gag falls away. "I'm not that easy to get rid of," she jokes, her voice hoarse, but that's all she has time to say before TJ's lips are suddenly on hers, his hands cupping her face, his kiss desperate and fervent.

And okay, _wow_. He's too overwrought for the kiss to be anything but pretty straightforward, but still, he's got great lips—so soft, she needs to ask him what kind of chapstick he uses—and his long fingers circle her jaw to bury themselves in her hair, and she suddenly wishes very hard that her hands weren't tied so she could see if his hair is as soft as it always looks. The truth is that she's imagined what this would be like, on more than one occasion, and now that it's happening she's suddenly rather keen for it not to end—

But as though thinking it brought it to pass, the kiss does end, and TJ jumps back as though he's been burned, his eyes as round as saucers. He actually looks paler, too, as though he's some Victorian maiden about to faint. "I am so sorry," he says. "I am _so, so sorry._ " He pulls a utility knife from his belt and sets to cutting her feet free, then her hands; she assumes he's extra studious about his task because it gives him an excuse to avoid making eye contact with her. And then, as she rubs feeling back into her wrists, he pulls out his radio. "Loomis! It's Cora! She's here, she's alive."

"Ho-ly cow," comes Loomis's voice. "Where you at? I'll be right up." He hesitates. "Well, I'll be up soon. I don't run."

And Cora chokes out a laugh at this familiar bit of normalcy.

"Are any paramedics available to come up?"

Loomis reports that they're all busy, and Cora shakes her head. "I can walk," she insists. "Don't bother coming up, Burl; we'll be down soon."

"You can't walk," TJ fusses. "You should wait to be checked out by a medical professional."

"They let me walk to the bathroom a couple times a day," she says. "So I know I can still walk. Just help me up and I'll show you."

Reluctantly TJ gets to his feet and takes her hand to pull her up. She gets easily to her feet, then tightens her grip when he tries to withdraw his hand.

His brow furrows. "What are you—"

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

"About?" he repeats weakly.

She nods down at the closet floor, where TJ Caruso, of all people, totally just movie-climax-big-heroic-rescue kissed her. Instantly his face flames bright red. "I am so sorry," he repeats. "That was wildly inappropriate of me. I assure you, it won't happen again."

Again he tries to move away from her, but she keeps his hand in an iron grip, even as he turns away from her. "What if I want it to happen again?" she demands. Gutsy, but she's always believed in going after the things you want.  


TJ freezes, then slowly turns to look back at her.

"You . . . want it to happen again?"

His eyes are owl-wide behind his enormous glasses, and he looks, as he sometimes does, like a rather startled little boy. He's adorable. And that's coming from someone who doesn't throw around the word "adorable" lightly. "After that kiss, and a near-death experience, I am way more open to the possibility than I thought I'd be." She's as surprised as anyone to hear these words coming from her mouth . . . but also maybe this has been a long time coming.  


"But . . . you hate me." His face crumples a little. "That was the worst part about thinking you were dead," he confesses quietly, then shakes his head. "I mean, it was all equally terrible. All of it was the worst part. Obviously. But—I hated the thought that you died still mad at me. That our last interactions had all been so strained."

Cora feels a warmth start to grow in her chest, an affection that has reared its head occasionally over the last six months, trying to peek out from under her layers of armor only to be stuffed ruthlessly back under control. But the feeling only lasts until he adds, "Although I do stand by my evaluation. You'll never improve if you don't get constructive feedback." And now her growing urge to kiss him again is overtaken briefly by an urge to give him a massive wedgie or something.

"Yeah, I was pretty mad about that," she admits. "But lately I've had a lot of time to think. And to realize that while I've been in here, I missed you more than anyone else. You're . . . my person, Caruso. Whatever that means." She tightens her grip around his fingers and takes a step closer. "And all of a sudden I'm wondering if I want it to mean, more kissing."

"Is this really the best time to be talking about this?" he asks, slightly bewildered, looking around at the cartel headquarters they're still in the heart of.

"Yeah, because apparently it's the only time you're willing to talk about it. Apparently it takes thinking I'm dead for you to do something about your feelings." 

Again he blushes, and Cora hides a smile. She's always suspected TJ had a little bit of a crush on her, though she's never quite been able to get confirmation. But now she has it.

But TJ is shaking his head. "You've been through this traumatic experience, and since I'm the one who rescued you, you're associating all your positive feelings right now with me—" 

"I'm not," she insists. "Because I used to wonder about, you know, _us_ , way before I got grabbed."

He stares. "Did you?" he asks quietly, his eyes wide.

She gives him a little smile. "You drive me crazy," she says. "If we were together, the next murder we investigate would probably be yours, after you call me on another infraction. But even with all that, I like you. I always have. You're sweet and thoughtful and smart and talented and dependable and just . . . so _good_. The last honest man, you know?" She shrugs. "I'm not proposing marriage; I'm not even proposing commitment. But now that this thing is finally out in the open, don't you want to give it a try? Just to see?" She tightens her grip on his hand. "Do you want to look back on this years from now and wonder what would've happened if we'd just tried?"

But even her heartfelt speech can't move the Boy Scout. "I'm your superior," he points out, although his eyes say he's sorry to be speaking these words. "It would be wildly inappropriate. Total breach of ethics."

"Okay, so we keep it a secret for a while, and if we think it's going somewhere, I transfer to another department."

He looks crestfallen. "You want to leave my department?"

"I don't want to, necessarily. But I might need to, and not just because of this. You know as well as I do that the chances were never great that I'd be around forever. Transfers happen a lot. And for promotions, there's only so far I could go in your department, since there aren't that many upper positions and they're mostly already filled by people who aren't going anywhere." She shoots him a grin. "And if I was in another department, maybe I could get a supervisor who gives nicer evaluations."

But TJ doesn't smile; he just looks at her with those sad puppy dog eyes and shakes his head. "I don't want to lose you as a detective," he says regretfully. "And there's too many other complications. It's better not to start down that path."

Ok, Cora has had it with playing fair. So she releases his hand in favor of running both of hers up his arms and across his shoulders (she feels him shiver and grins in triumph). "All right," she says in a low, throaty tone. "I'll make you a deal. You let me kiss you—really kiss you—and after that, if you really think it's better for us not to go after this, I'll leave you alone. What do you say?"

She's close enough to him to hear his breathing quicken, feel his pulse accelerate, see his eyes darken. She's close enough that when he breathes "Um, okay," it's as easy as anything to slide her fingers into his hair (turns out it is exactly as soft as it looks), go up on her toes, and press a trail of kisses along his jaw. His breath catches. And when she reaches his lips, she's only alone in this kiss for a second before TJ's arms suddenly tighten around her waist and he is kissing her like she'll disappear if he stops—he's kissing her like she's come back from the dead.

And okay, _wow._ She'd intended on wowing him with the kiss, especially since she's usually the first one to make fun of his lack of experience in the romance department. But wow, he must have read a book or something, because this really is a much better kiss than she'd ever expected out of Anthony Caruso, Jr.

She's about to suggest that they just move permanently into this warehouse so they never have to detach from each other's faces when suddenly there are footsteps out in the hallway. Once again TJ springs away from her like he's been burned, and she'd be mad about that if she wasn't too busy being lost in a sort of blissful trance after that kiss. But she gathers her wits—and catches her breath—enough to hiss at him, "This conversation is not over!"

He gives her a helpless look but can say nothing because here's Loomis, walking in with a massive grin on his face. (Even if she's not thrilled at being interrupted, it warms her heart to know she was missed and mourned by her coworkers.) TJ keeps his distance as she talks to Loomis, and as they go down to the parking lot, and as the paramedic checks her out, and as the ambulance takes her to the hospital, and as the doctor says they'll want to keep her overnight for observation.

But apparently he's still thinking about their conversation, because late that night, when all the other cops and TJ's dad have gone home, when it's just the pair of them in the dim light, when Cora is lying bandaged and exhausted in her hospital bed, TJ pulls his chair up next to her bed, reaches out for her hand, and gently interlaces their fingers. And Cora falls asleep with a smile on her face.

o.o.o


End file.
